


this is who we are; there's no glamour to it

by we_are_inevitable



Series: it's always been you // drabble collection [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daniel Kelly's A+ Parenting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Night Terrors, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Jack Kelly, Vomiting, gun mention, just in case that squicks anyone out but it's just like. one sentence, there are a BUNCH of run-on sentences but thats on purpose i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_inevitable/pseuds/we_are_inevitable
Summary: He screams, because there’s nothing else he can do, is there? He screams, because one moment, he was happy, he was good, and then everything shifted and everything hurt and, oh, there are tears streaming down his face and, ah, there are arms being wrapped around him.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly
Series: it's always been you // drabble collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144613
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	this is who we are; there's no glamour to it

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You can take me instead, just please don't hurt [him]."

Everything feels hazy. Things around him look distorted- swirled, as if being mixed like paint, and what he sees is dark and dim.

But Jack doesn’t feel this way. No, no.

Jack feels happy.

He isn’t sure what’s brought it on, but there’s this- this feeling in his chest, this burst of emotion that feels like flying and falling at the same time. He feels exhilarated. Intoxicated. He’s smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, and he can hear something- music like an old lullaby, but much softer, much quieter.

And there’s a hand intertwined in his own.

Jack doesn’t even have to look to see that it’s Davey’s. His hand is soft, much unlike Jack’s own calloused palm, and it’s larger than his, and it’s perfect. Perfect, like the rest of Davey. Perfect, like his smile, and those sparkling blue eyes, and the way his eyes scrunch up when he laughs, and the way he speaks with that nice, soft authority, and Jack could go on and on about how perfect Davey is, _his_ Davey, but right now, Jack would much rather show him. Tell him how he feels.

And he does. He does, because soon, Jack is sitting in Davey’s lap, and his hands- his shaky, paint-covered hands- are running through Davey’s hair, holding Davey closer, exploring as Davey kisses him like he’s the only man on Earth.

And everything feels right.

Until Jack’s vision goes dark and there’s an icy chill that shoots down his spine.

Suddenly, he feels like he’s in quicksand, and there’s this- this distorted look on Davey’s face, one of fear and pain and then Jack hears it. He hears the footsteps and hears the lightswitch and something shifts and now Jack is standing, he’s standing between Davey and a man, a large man, a man with tan skin- lighter than his own- and angry eyes and, oh, no, that expression, and there's- there’s something in his hand, and Jack realizes- like a light turning on- that it’s a- it’s--

 _“Don’t shoot!”_ Jack screams, begs, at least he thinks he does- he can’t tell, can’t hear anything, and he wants to move, wants to fight, wants to hurt and protect and keep Davey, his precious Davey, safe, and--

_“Dad, don’t-- Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him, please, please, he didn’t do anything wrong, please!”_

But Jack’s father moves forward, and he grabs, he reaches, for Davey, and, no, no, Jack can’t let that happen, and Jack feels so helpless. Helpless, because everything happens in slow motion, but he moves, he finally moves, and he shoves Davey onto the ground and stands in front of his dad, the man who raised him, who- who hurt him, and Jack can’t breathe. _“Hurt me! Take me instead, just- just don’t touch him!”_

Suddenly, Jack Kelly is staring down the barrel of a gun, and there’s a loud _bang,_ and, suddenly, Jack Kelly sits up in bed and _screams._

He screams, because there’s nothing else he can do, is there? He screams, because one moment, he was happy, he was good, and then everything shifted and everything _hurt_ and, oh, there are tears streaming down his face and, ah, there are arms being wrapped around him, and Jack melts, burying himself against the touch, against the warmth, against the safety of Davey’s chest.

He’s shaking. Shaking, and crying, and he can’t even speak, but Davey is here, right here, and Davey is whispering, rubbing his back, tugging his curls to ground him, to calm him, and Jack feels so, so guilty- guilty, because Davey deserves better, and guilty, because Davey has a big final in the morning, and he’s here, in Jack’s dorm room, holding him, because Jack is acting like a child.

“D-Davey, I-- I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, pl-please don’t--” He’s cut off by a loud sob, and Davey takes it in stride. Before Jack knows what’s happening, Davey is pulling him into his lap, and he starts rocking him, and Jack can’t help but grip Davey’s shirt, holding on for dear life.

“Shh, shh, hey, no, you have _nothing_ to apologize for, okay?” Davey says softly, gently, because Davey is a saint, because Davey is _everything_ Jack has ever needed. “Do you- Do you need to talk about it? Was it just a nightmare?”

Jack shakes his head at first, then nods to answer Davey’s second question, and Davey sucks in a deep breath, because Davey knows. Davey knows how hard it is for Jack to function, to live, without looking over his shoulder or waiting for the day that he- Jack’s father- is going to come back, show back up, and _hurt_ him again. Hurt him, because he’s not a good enough son, because he’s a piece of shit, because he didn’t play sports and didn’t have a job and talked back and _told the police_ and, suddenly, Jack is climbing off of the bed, running to the bathroom, and emptying the contents of his stomach while on his knees, shaking, in front of the toilet.

And Davey is there, because Davey is always there, rubbing Jack’s back and handing him a cold glass of water- when he had time to run to the kitchenette in the dorm, Jack will never know- but he sits there, sits next to Jack as Jack tries to calm his breathing, and he helps, because Davey is good, and pure, and Davey won’t hurt him, wouldn’t dream of it, and that somehow makes the tears fall faster.

There’s a sound of shuffling outside the door, and Jack tightens his grip on himself as Davey stands and opens it. Tony is standing right outside, and he looks- well, Jack can’t really tell, not like this, but he doesn’t look mad and he doesn’t look happy, but then they make eye contact and he looks so nervous and tired and _worried_ and Jack feels even worse. He never meant to wake anyone up, especially not Tony, not Race- Race, his best friend, his roommate of two years, the guy who never has a problem with Davey staying over, the guy who always subtly makes sure Jack is okay, and fuck, Jack feels like a burden all over again.

He’s slow to stand, and his knees almost give out with how much he’s shaking, but then Davey has one arm around his waist and Race is rubbing his back, and they’re talking, swapping quiet, nearly silent theories for Jack’s behavior, for his outburst, and it hurts, because Jack wants to tell them, he wants to, but he can’t find the words right now.

Davey guides him to the bed as Race stands in the doorway, and Jack can see them- they’re silent, but they’re giving each other these looks, and Jack knows those looks. Slowly, though Jack climbs back onto the bed, staring down at his trembling hands. He feels cold. Cold, and he’s not sure if it’s the temperature of the room or the pit in his stomach.

He looks up and makes eye contact with Race. He tries to speak, but, at first, all that comes out is a strained exhalation. He shakes his head and clears his throat, balling his fists up in his lap. “I-I’ll tell you in the mornin’, I… I’m sorry.”

“‘Ey, ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, ‘kay, Jackie? You just get some rest. I’ll stay home with you tomorrow,” Race says softly, more seriously than Jack has ever heard him, and Jack nods. After shooting Jack a supportive smile, Race leaves and closes the door behind him.

Once he’s gone, Jack leans back into Davey’s arms, closing his eyes. “I… Thank you, Dave.”

“No need to thank me,” Davey murmurs, wrapping his arms around Jack from behind. They’re sitting up still, with Jack’s shirtless back pressed against Davey’s chest. “Are you… do you feel sick?” Davey asks, softly, gently.

Jack shakes his head. “Not… Not, um, physically. That was…”

“Anxiety,” Davey finishes for him, and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “It’s okay, Jackie, I understand. Okay? The important thing is… is that you’re safe now,” Davey sighs. “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t expect you to tell me- that’s up to you- but… you’re safe here. Nothing is going to happen to you ever again. Okay? You're safe, Jack. You can breathe now.”

And Davey doesn’t _know,_ but he knows. He knows about Jack’s past. Knows about the scars and the memories and the outbursts. Knows about the house calls and the foster families and the various run-ins with the police, all because of his father. Davey knows all of that, and Davey knows what sets Jack off like this, and Davey knows that Jack will tell him, he always does, but he needs time, and comfort, and protection.

And Jack knows that Davey is genuine about it.

Jack knows that he’s safe here.

Here, in the arms of his Davey.

**Author's Note:**

> i love using jack kelly as an emotional guinea pig. can y'all tell


End file.
